Ineffable
by Aquiver
Summary: Dumbledore had men and women dedicated to his cause, with none so dedicated as the spy, Severus Snape. With the Dark Lord on the rise, Albus decides that he needs someone dedicated to his spy's cause for once. He thinks he knows just the fourth year to take on the job. This changes everything. SS/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**When you can't write for one story, write another. At least, that's what my muse says. Here's something new to keep my brain fresh (because mapping out a 7 book story is rather exhausting, wouldn't you know) while my fem!Harry story is still being turned over in my mind.**

 **This is a SS/OC story with a slow build. It's mostly a story about finding your place in life and deals very much with the theme of depression. It should have all the usual disclaimers, though I won't be listing them all here because I feel as if that sometimes ruins a good plot twist.**

 **See you at the end.**

* * *

Ineffable: something too great or intangible to be described in words.

 _"She liked the word ineffable because it meant a feeling so big or vast that it could not be expressed in words. And yet, because it could not be expressed in words, people had invented a word to express it, and that made Liesl feel hopeful, somehow."_ _―_ _Lauren Oliver, Liesl & Po_

* * *

 _He's kicking you out. Of course he is. You always knew you weren't Hogwarts material. When was the last time you got an Acceptable or better on an assignment? Third Year Charms? It was only a matter of time. Just hold on to your dignity. Keep your face blank, Sintica. Blank. Blank. Blank. What's that funny look on his face for? Is that pity or—amusement?_

Albus stared at the girl sitting in the armchair across from his desk. She was quietly staring back and could not possibly know that he was using Legilimency on her—merely skimming the surface of her thoughts. Her Head of House would have been proud of the emptiness in her expression. Sintica Selwyn had all of the pureblood features of her ancient family (grey eyes, dark hair, plus a wide, angled face) and those features shared not one drop of her inner fears.

While looking at her, second-guessing himself was imminent. Would this really be the girl who could be the turning point in the war? She was small and thin, less than mediocre in her studies, and was sorely lacking in interpersonal skills. Not to mention, she was troubled.

But these days, who wasn't?

"Miss Selwyn. Thank you for appeasing an old man's whims on such short notice," the Headmaster said at last. They had been staring at each other for several moments.

She nodded her head politely.

"I know that you are more than likely enjoying your last few days at Hogwarts now that your exams are finished—" there was a flicker of something in the girl's gaze, gone in a flash, "—so trust that I have not brought you here for anything less than the upmost importance. Most simply, I have a request to make of you."

The girl across from him looked blatantly confused now, the slip of her empty-mask leaving her looking every bit as young as her fourteen years of age. He was tempted to peer into her mind and hear her thoughts, but did not. He stroked his beard and leaned back.

"What are your plans for the summer, Miss Selwyn?"

"The orphanage, sir."

"You have no plans to visit your family? I believe they sent you a request last summer—"

"No sir. Just the orphanage."

"I understand." He opened the drawer to his desk where he had placed a series of parchments just as the girl entered the room, precisely so that they might be later taken out of the drawer for her benefit. He spread them in front of her and gestured for her to look when it was clear that she didn't plan to take the liberty on her own.

"They're the results from my exams," she said, several times her own age and with far more resignation that should be physically possible.

"They are. A _Troll_ in Herbology as well as Transfiguration and History of Magic. A _Dreadful_ in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts—"

She looked down at her lap. "Yes professor. I know my grades are…unsatisfactory."

"Are you unhappy here at Hogwarts?"

"Not necessarily," she said. The Headmaster looked at her closely.

"Not necessarily?"

"I think I'm unhappy in general, Headmaster. Hogwarts doesn't have anything to do with it."

His heart ached for this young girl. "A few professors have noticed your unhappiness, namely, your Head of House."

"Professor Snape?" She asked, looking up with surprise. Her eyes held an unnamable glossiness at the mention of his name, and any doubts that the Headmaster had about this girl being the proper one for the job were put firmly from his mind. "Professor Snape thinks I'm unhappy?"

"He knows you are, child. He's an observant man." The Headmaster lowered his voice. "But it does not take much extrapolation when you find a young girl standing on the Astronomy Tower in the dead of winter, willing herself to jump off of it."

Sintica's entire body pulled back (when had she began leaning towards him? Just a moment ago?), her face blanching with horror. At last, her shoulders drooped. "He promised he wouldn't tell anyone."

"Professor Snape is bound by the rules of his position to inform me if any student comes to harm—by another's hand or by their own. He had no choice in the matter."

"Of course," she mumbled, clenching her trembling hands together.

"Professor Snape is just one of the many professors here at Hogwarts who want to see that you are happy and to see that you succeed, Miss Selwyn. You have had a hard life. I would not pretend to know your situation nor to understand it—that would be very much remiss on my part, and an insult to your personal strength. However, I believe I have a suggestion that might remedy your marks and perhaps your unhappiness."

The girl was intrigued. He could see it on her face even as she reverted to her blank expression, but beneath any interest was a layer of suspicion. The Headmaster didn't need to dip into her mind to sense it. He lamented that there were some in the world who had been so mistreated that they were suspicious even of kindness.

"Would you like to hear my proposal?" He asked at last. The girl nodded slowly. "Over the summer, I would like you to stay at a home belonging to a friend of mine. The friend is no longer able to run the home, so it has fallen very much into disrepair. Throughout the summer months, I want you to clean the home from top to bottom. If you succeed in this, you will be guaranteed admission into Hogwarts for your fifth year of schooling. Otherwise, Miss Selwyn, I'm afraid that you would not pass on to the next academic year."

She blinked. "You want me to clean an old house?"

"Precisely."

"What's the catch?"

"Ah, the _catch_!" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and allowing his lilac robes to pool there. "There is always a catch, isn't there? And here it is: during your summer, you will also listen to another proposal of mine, the likes of which is not nearly so simple to explain over a single meeting in a single evening. It is an assignment of extra worth that you would complete for your fifth year and perhaps the future years to come, if it is agreeable to you."

"So the house is a red herring?"

"Of sorts, but it really does need a good scrubbing."

"I clean this house and you'll give me an assignment that will take the whole next year and maybe years after, is that right? Do I have to accept the assignment?"

"Not at all! That's the particular beauty behind this catch. Without your forced agreement, essentially, you will spend the summer cleaning and listening to an old man tell stories, but let me warn you Miss Selwyn, the assignment I have to offer you would not be easy if you were to accept. However, it would be more than worth it."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Might I have time to think about it, professor?" She asked. For the second time, he looked into her light eyes and allowed himself to sense her thoughts—turmoil, yes, but hope, and curiosity, and fear.

"Of course. When the train leaves to return your fellow classmates to their homes for the summer, I have hopes that you will instead be Apparating with me to the home of my colleague and friend. I will need an answer before then. Will the week suffice?"

The girl nodded, looking distant. Thoughtful.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting your answer, my child. Any questions you have—please feel free to seek me out and I will answer them."

#

Midnight found the Headmaster looking out the window of his office at the Scottish landscape. He was wearing a scarlet bed robe with a long matching nightcap that Irma Pince had made for his birthday three years prior; it was as long as his beard. Tonight there was a moon and stars, though he could feel the threat of rain coming. Or was it really rain?

His Potions Master had left just an hour before, still fuming about the escape of Sirius Black. He had looked aged ten years by his own rage and bitterness. The young wizard had seemed more agitated as of late (which was truly saying something), and he refused to confide in the older man. Dumbledore could not help but think the worst—Severus felt what was coming in the same way Albus did, and it was not simply rain.

Something tapped at the window so suddenly that the Headmaster startled. Staring back at him were two yellow eyes the size of Sickles. The owl carried with it a simple message:

 _Headmaster:_

 _I agree._

 _S. Selwyn_

"You should be in bed, my child," he whispered to the letter, smiling. Looking back at the mountains, he felt lighter. Maybe that electricity in the air was just the coming rainstorm after all. He blew out the last candles, left the note on his desk, and made his way to bed at last.

No matter what was coming, Albus would be prepared. He always was.

* * *

 **I can promise you nothing-no steady updates or anything of the sort, but trust that I won't abandon this story. Is there anyone remotely interested?**


	2. Chapter 2

**See you at the end.**

* * *

 _"I wish…I wish_ I _were dead."_

 _"And what use would that be to anyone?"_

 _—Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. HPDH (33)_

 _#_

The night before Albus Dumbledore was to whisk her away to an unknown dingy location, Sintica did not sleep at all. The other girls in the Slytherin dormitory had been up late talking and sharing last memories before the train ride back to King's Cross Station the next morning. Though she had been in her four poster bed, none of the other girls had invited her to join in their reminiscing. Instead, she had drawn the curtains around her bed and stared up into the velvety darkness, thinking.

It wouldn't be until years later that Sintica saw the irony in her situation. Where her story truly began was where she had hoped it would end: one winter night months earlier, standing on the edge of the Astronomy Tower and willing herself to jump off it. She had spent the prior month making a list of reasons for and against her own death. She carried it with her to classes during the day and pinned it up inside her bed at night. While she was physically present in all of her lessons, her mind was on the piece of parchment inside of her robes, burning a numb hole through her chest and into her heart.

When three weeks passed and she had only come up with reasons to commit her desperate act, she had put her plan into motion. After long thought, it was decided that jumping from the tallest tower at Hogwarts would be the quickest and most foolproof method of execution.

Then why hadn't she done it? She could remember it vividly. Clenching her list in her hand, she sat on the windowsill of the Astronomy Tower reading it one last time by the light of the moon.

 _No parents._

 _June._

 _No friends._

 _Bad student._

With four simple reasons, she had deemed herself an unnecessary pawn in a world that had only customized her pain and loneliness. The wind had been strong (not to mention how aggressively her legs were trembling) as she stood from her perch. All it would take was a single step and she would become one with the inky darkness below her. There were be a few long seconds of horror—but then there would be nothing.

"Jump, Sintica. Jump. Jump. _Jump_." But she didn't. It was as if she _couldn't_. All those weeks of thinking about it—dreaming about it—and she was hesitating when it counted most. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and nearly froze on her face. Reaching up to wipe them away, she lost her balance and—

—a warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her harshly from the edge and back into the tower. She landed on her hip, elbow smashing into the stone floor. The list was torn from her hands by the wind and fluttered into the darkness of the room, and there standing above her was Severus Snape. He nearly blended into the darkness without flaw: dark hair, dark robes, but the moonlight slipping through the window made his pale skin seem to glow as he stared down at her with some distant, unreadable expression.

"Can you stand?" He asked her at last. She tried and he waited patiently while she convinced her weak knees to hold her slight weight. Once he was sure she wouldn't topple over, he turned away, stooped to the floor for a moment, and then continued right out the tower door. "Follow me, Miss Selwyn."

"That's alright, Professor," she said, ignoring the way her voice cracked. "I'm alright."

"You are operating under the delusion that my demand was a request. _Follow me_."

And that was how she ended up drinking cocoa from a mug in the Potions Master's office. The room was dark and dismal like the man himself with unidentifiable jars of pickled creatures and potions ingredients lining the shelves. Every Slytherin, at one time or another, had been in Snape's office. For her, it had been last school year, when the Selwyn's contacted the school and asked for her to spend the summer with them. Snape had brought her to this very office to condemn her to the worst few months of her life—not that he could have possibly known.

He sat in perfect silence, staring a hole through her. Any person with less shame might have been able to meet his gaze. _He caught me trying to jump off the bloody Astronomy Tower. He must think I'm a fool._

"Normally, in this situation, I would deliver a calming draught before discussing the seriousness of your actions with you. Is such a thing necessary, Miss Selwyn?" His voice was quiet and deep. The sound of it gave her the shivers, and he pointed his wand at the fire to make it raise higher, casting a flickering glow around the room.

"That won't be necessary, sir," she said lowly. There would be no hysterics in front of Professor Snape. What she resorted to in the safety of her bed was a different matter—but to cry in front of Professor Snape would be _shameful_.

At her reply, there was a crinkling as he reached into his robes. Out, he pulled a piece of parchment. _Her_ piece of parchment. Hands trembling, she put the mug of cocoa back on his desk to make sure she wouldn't spill it over herself.

"That is mine, sir," she said, not daring to reach for it, but hoping desperately he wouldn't read it. It was so painfully personal—and gods, had she written on there anything about her time with the Selwyns? She'd had the list memorized for weeks but couldn't remember it now, not when she was sweating and her hands were shaking so badly and she thought she might be sick.

Professor Snape stood gracefully and retrieved a calming draught.

"I'm going to make an educated guess," he said slowly after she had drank the vial. "Tonight, you planned to commit suicide. This—" he pointed to her list, "—is a collection of reasons _why_. Am I correct, Miss Selwyn?"

Her hands had stopped trembling and a strange calm had drifted over her, like fog over the school grounds that sometimes clung there in the early mornings. She spoke from a distant, emotionless place. "That's correct, professor."

"I am going to discuss this list with you, item by item." She watched with muted horror as he unfolded the parchment and cleared his throat. "Your first reason for death is that you have no family. Such a thing isn't true. I believe you are the only girl at Coraline's Home for Children whose parents are still alive and able to contact her. But that wasn't what you _meant_ , was it?"

Silence.

"While your biological parents exist and are capable of sending you requests to summer with them, they _are_ still the same two people who gave you away when you were a child. Such a thing is not in the least bit endearing. Do you understand why they did such a thing, Miss Selwyn?"

She shook her head.

"I'm going to speak frankly. _I_ know why you were placed into an orphanage. I know both of your parents. I think we can both agree that they are terrible people—not necessarily because of their beliefs, but because of their practices. In this case, it is their beliefs which spurred them to give you away when you were just old enough to walk and talk and need them the most. Your family, like many other pureblooded families in these modern times, has dealt with copious amounts of inbreeding to keep the lineage pure."

"My mum and dad are also my aunt and uncle," she said.

"They are siblings, yes. I was at their wedding.

"When you were born, your mother and father subjected you to all the old wives' tales to determine whether or not you would be magical: exposing you to pigs, seeing your reaction to Muggles, putting you on a broomstick when you were just old enough to grasp it. You failed each and every test and displayed no young accidental magic. Believing you to be a squib, they travelled across the country to give you to a home for wayward children and hoped that such a discrepancy in their magical blood would be unnoticed or at least unmentioned. Imagine their surprise, years later, when you received an owl from Hogwarts. They made a _grievous_ mistake. Do you understand?"

Sintica had listened with rapt attention. Never before had she heard such a story (who would have told her? Her parents had spent the entire summer avoiding her inquiries about why they had given her up for adoption). At the man's question, she shook her head, not so much out of a lack of understanding but of nearly disbelief. She had always imagined it being different—a mother who had never wanted her but was too squeamish to have an abortion, perhaps. Two people who had wished to negate her existence from the moment she was born, at least.

Being given away because they thought she was a squib wasn't much better—but it was _something_ , not to mention, it was an excuse at all.

"They thought I wasn't magical."

"Precisely, but you _are_ quite magical. Do you understand? You have no family from no wrong doing of your own. You are without a family because of their own flawed belief system and because of their own misjudgment.

"As for the second reason on your list, you are very vague. June." He watched her shudder. "Is that a name, Miss Selwyn?"

She shook her head.

"Am I correct in assuming it refers to the month, then?" She nodded, mutely. "Then I will make more assumptions. Something very traumatic or distasteful happened in June—of what year, I can't say—but it has clearly affected you greatly if it is a reason for which you wish to die."

"Very traumatic," she murmured in echo. The last time she had thought of the subject, she had been overcome with nausea; now, she reached forward to sip from her cocoa. Somewhere deep inside there was the wiggling of horror and anxiety like worms crawling under her skin, but she pushed it away easily. Calming draughts. Such a beautiful invention. Perhaps Professor Snape would send her back to her dormitory with an armful of them.

"I don't know what you have suffered, but you do not suffer alone. I myself have faced many trials in my own life—literally and metaphorically. I've experienced things that (I hope) would shock you, disturb you, and curl the hairs on your head. As it is, I'm a very bitter man for them, but I am an _alive_ man. Mental wounds can persist long after a physical wound has healed, but no wound lasts forever." He mumbled the next line so that it was nearly lost to her. "And, if you are dead, you can't get even.

"Your third reason is that you have no friends. Let me promise you this—you do not need any. I would even go so far as to say that any friend you made at this time in your life would be so ephemeral as to be nearly useless. In my life, I have made only one true friend, and he did not become my friend until I was nearly a decade older than you are now. Loneliness is painful, but it is not everlasting.

"Your final reason for desiring to end your own life is that you are a bad student." He paused and rubbed at his forehead as if this talk was giving him a headache. For the first time in their conversation, he seemed angry. "I say this—who _gives_ a _shite_ , Miss Selwyn? Do _you_? A twelve inch parchment on a dead subject is one way of measuring intelligence—or resourcefulness, perhaps—but it _does not and never has_ measured one's worth. You have classmates receiving marks far, far worse than your own, with a quarter of your brains—that does not mean they aren't worthy of something, of _life_."

He had spoken for so long that Sintica's mouth had gently drifted open until she was sure she resembled something like a shocked fish. Expression aside, she had hung on to his every word.

When he spoke next, his words were whispered and nearly lost to the crackling fire. "I would like an oath between us that the next time you should feel so desperate as to jump off the Astronomy Tower, I will be alerted with ample time to discuss the matter with you. Also, you will not reveal any of this discussion to anyone else, besides the information I have given you about your own family history, which is yours to do with as you please."

"Okay," she said. There was a swirl of tingling warmth as the magic around them settled.

"I am your Head of House. That means I am instilled with a certain duty that I take very, very seriously. I do not extend this invitation lightly, nor will you even tell anyone else of its existence at all—but should you need to confide in me, you are welcome to. You are not the first and you will not be the last. We are allies, here."

"Yes, sir," she said distantly. "Allies."

"Usually, after something such as this occurs, a student is referred for psychiatric evaluation with Madam Pomfrey—"

"Please, no," she said, feeling the first tendrils of calm slipping away from her at even the idea of speaking to the old, stern woman about the things Snape had discussed with her. "Please, sir, no one can know about this."

Lips thin, the man sized her up for a long moment, and then stood.

He escorted her back to the Common Room and watched her enter the door. She could not possibly know that he stood there, Disillusioned in the hallway, for the rest of the night. Inside, she found an armchair and sat in silence listening to the fire across the room crackle.

 _Wait until tomorrow evening and jump instead, or find some other way—your list is no shorter. Nothing has changed,_ a quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind. But something had changed—something huge.

It may not have been noticeable to the others around her, but she was different. There was a strength in her now, an enduring hope that the things Professor Snape had said were true. The idea that he had said such things at all made her blush once the calming draught had worn away. He had been honest, kind, compassionate—no one outside of Slytherin House would have believed her, and even her Housemates might have expressed some doubt.

It went without saying that in Snape's office, a camaraderie of sorts had been formed. Perhaps it was one-sided, but Professor Snape was her _ally_. He had said so himself. She wouldn't take such a statement lightly. He saved her life, and for the first time in ages, she thought that maybe her life might have a purpose. There was still a melancholic heaviness over her, and she was still often faced with that nagging voice that said maybe she was the exception to Snape's rule, maybe she _had_ no purpose—but she hadn't given into that voice, and she planned to hold out against it for as long as she could.

She made her own vow that night: she would repay the debt to him someday, in whatever way she could.

But it just so happened that she hadn't _quite_ thought of just the way to do that, as of yet. She could not possibly have known that fate was taking care of such matters for her. She also could not have known just how steep the price would be to repay such a debt.

Fate collects interest, after all.

Coming out from her thoughts, she used a spell to bring up the time and decided it was late enough for her to dress and prepare.

#

Sintica and the Headmaster left the castle promptly at sunrise. The rest of the school wouldn't be leaving for the train for hours, but the Headmaster had insisted they get a head start on their long day.

"If you would take my arm, my dear," he said, offering her his glittering-grey clad arm. There came the overwhelmingly nauseating feeling of Apparating, but when she came to she was standing on a small patch of grass in a square. The neighborhood around her was not very friendly, with decrepit buildings (some even with broken glass as their windows) and no one walking the streets. Sintica could easily believe that this was where she was headed—the whole street looked like it could use a scrubbing.

Dumbledore handed her a slip of paper.

"Memorize that, would you my dear? Quickly, if you can."

In narrow handwriting, it read:

 _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

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 **I'm tempted to defend my portrayal of Snape in this chapter, but I won't.**

 **Very special thanks to my three reviewers who said kind things and made my heart of ice melt.**

 **This is my first OC creation, and I'm very afraid of making her into a stereotypical "Mary Sue." Please feel free to offer criticism or compliments, as both are appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**See you at the end.**

* * *

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."—Lao Tzu

#

Grimmauld Place needed more than a good scrubbing. In Sintica's opinion, it needed demolishing. It was a pureblood's home judging by the archaic, antique quality of the furniture and total lack of Muggle commodities, but what truly convinced Sintica that she was inside the home of a pureblooded family was located on the wall inside one of the first rooms Dumbledore led her to while giving her a tour of the place: the family history of the most noble House of Black.

"Professor, whose home is this?"

And that was just when he stepped out of the shadows. "Mine."

It was Sirius Black. She recognized him from all the posters that had circulated in the Daily Prophet—not to mention that the entire last school year, one couldn't go longer than fifteen minutes without hearing the latest rumor about him. _I heard that he's living out in the Forbidden Forest, waiting until he can finish the work of his Master and kill off Potter for good. Well, I heard that he's wearing a cloak and floating around pretending to be a Dementor—but that planned backfired, since Potter's so afraid of them. That's a load of rubbish as everybody knows he's been Polyjuiced as the Muggle Studies teacher the entire term._

Sintica scrambled for her wand, but the Headmaster was quick to put a hand on her arm.

"Miss Selwyn, don't be alarmed. I assure you that in regards to Mr. Black, not all is as it seems." He seemed utterly unperturbed about the mass murderer who was currently leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, sizing her up. He was thin, but not as gaunt as he'd been in the old posters of him. It didn't take much to see that he was an attractive fellow—or would have been, if he hadn't spent the last decade and more in Azkaban. Sintica nearly blushed under his obviously adult gaze, but twisted her face into a blank mask instead at the last moment.

What the hell had Dumbledore signed her up for?

He ushered her out of the room with Black on their heels, shut the door behind them, and tried to continue with the tour as though there wasn't a maniac hovering over their shoulders giving them cutesy backstory about the house itself. Every time he spoke, Sintica stared blankly, confused by his presence and made wary by her confusion.

Her bedroom was on the second floor, a small room that looked as if someone had tidied it up a bit. At least there was a coverlet on the bed—and it was warm. When the tour had come to a close, they were all covered in dust and cobwebs, and Dumbledore asked if he could make tea in the kitchen and speak to her privately. Black, who seemed as if he was having the most fun he'd had in years (though he probably _was_ , if the tales about Azkaban were true at all), frowned and sulked up the stairs like a child, slamming a distant door behind him.

Dumbledore spent ten minutes clearing the room of most visible cobwebs and general filth before putting the kettle to boil.

"The things that I'm about to tell you, Sintica, are not allowed to leave this room without my explicit permission. The details are so delicate that, unfortunately, I must ask you to make a wand oath to ensure that your word will be kept on such a matter." He watched her with his sharp blue eyes. "Do you agree to this?"

She removed her wand and they made the necessary oath.

"Sir, what is the Order of the Phoenix?" She asked.

"That is as good of a place to start as any, my dear. As it is, you are sitting in its headquarters. It is a secret organization, headed by myself, which has not met for a single meeting since the early 1980's. Its purpose is the opposition, hindrance, and hopeful destruction of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

Sintica stared. "You said _his_ name, Professor."

"I did, and I would like it if you did as well. He has gone by other names, which you may hear from me and the others in this organization as well: the Dark Lord, and Tom Riddle being two of those names."

"Which would you like me to call him, sir?"

He smiled kindly. "For now, shall we call him by the name he called himself? Voldemort."

She nodded and he continued to speak.

"While Voldemort is a figure that even your generation knows of well, giving you the context of his rise to power is invaluable. He was once a Hogwarts student similar to you and your classmates, though I can't say he was ever a normal student. Exceptionally bright and gifted at manipulation, he graduated with honors as Head Boy and immediately immersed himself into the Dark Arts. He spent time with the foulest creatures known to walk this earth and underwent magical and physical transformations that most of us would find difficult to even imagine. He is one of the last living—though I use such a term loosely—descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself and believes in the older wizard's pureblood motifs, aggressively. He believes in the culling of Muggleborns from magical society and desires a world empty of both them and Muggles, no matter how impossible this would be. Do you follow so far, Miss Selwyn?"

"Yes, Professor," she said quietly. In front of her, her tea was going cold. Dumbledore's was doing the same, but it's mere presence was ritualistically comforting.

"I must ask you a very delicate question, one that lacks tact but determines whether this meeting will continue—do you believe in the teachings of your pureblood parents? Are you such a proponent of a Muggleborn-less society?"

"I've only ever spent two months with my parents to my memory, sir. To be honest, I find them and their— _teachings_ —repulsive. I don't know how I feel about Muggleborns, but I wouldn't kick them out of Hogwarts and I wouldn't have them all killed. They've never been any ruder than purebloods."

 _But no kinder, either_ , she thought silently to herself.

"Then we can continue," Dumbledore said, moustache twitching as though he was pleased with her answer. "The Order of the Phoenix was founded in the 1970's. We spent years fighting against Voldemort's growing powers, and we lost many great witches and wizards along the way. In 1981, Voldemort received a tip from one of his Death Eaters about a prophecy."

"What sort of prophecy?" Sintica asked.

"A prophecy about the one who had the power to vanquish him. A child, barely born."

" _Harry Potter_?" She asked. It was difficult to believe. The boy was a year younger than herself and hadn't ever displayed any exceptional magical ability, save for his prowess on a broomstick. He always seemed to be elbow-deep in dangerous situations, though he had yet to be seriously injured. He _had_ survived the killing curse. That had to make him exceptional, didn't it? But to have the power to vanquish _Voldemort_?

"The prophecy did not refer to a name—merely a child who would be born at the end of July to parents who had thrice defied him. James and Lily Potter were part of the Order of the Phoenix, and had fought against him ever since their graduation from Hogwarts. On Halloween night of 1981, Voldemort travelled to their home, killed both James and Lily, but failed to kill Harry himself. His own curse rebounded on him and his powers were broken.

"This was mixed news for the Order. With Voldemort missing and potentially dead, his Death Eaters were scattered and it seemed that we might all be able to take a breath without fear. However, we had lost two young, loved members. It seemed natural that with no more threat, the Order would be disbanded, and so it was."

"Then why am I hear, sir? Do you think that Voldemort is becoming a threat again?"

Dumbledore leaned back and gave her a pensive look. "I've always known he would come back, and now, I have it on good authority that he is growing stronger again. Once he returns in corporeal form, he will be a formidable threat. It is time to brush the cobwebs—literally and figuratively—off of the Order and to prepare them for the next war."

"So I'm here to clean the place up? I can do that, Professor." If it got her into her fifth year at Hogwarts, she'd scrub the place on her hands and knees until it _glowed_. But there was still something bothering her, tickling at the back of her mind. "What is the long term project you wanted me to take on? Does it have to do with the Order?"

"It does. You would have to join the Order of the Phoenix and make a vow, but the truth is that I don't want your loyalty to be solely for the Order. I want you to be loyal to something— _someone_ else."

Sintica blinked. "You, sir?"

He chuckled. "No, my dear, not me. Professor Snape."

She blinked again at the man's name, heart thudding in her chest. This time she couldn't help but blush, face growing red with embarrassment. "What does Professor Snape have to do with any of this?"

"That is a particularly difficult question to answer, and I have promised him that some of the circumstances would be kept completely secret by myself. Put simply, Professor Snape is a Death Eater turned spy for us at the end of the first war."

"What?" She gaped. Her hands were clenching so tightly in her lap that her knuckles cracked. This shouldn't have come as news for her—hadn't Snape said he'd known her parents? Her parents might not have been Death Eaters (or might have been, for all she knew) but they believed in the same pureblood idolatry that Voldemort supported. Did that mean Professor Snape had such beliefs?

Something in her chest twisted at the thought. Professor Snape and her parents. She didn't want to believe that they could be at all similar.

"Severus had a dark upbringing and made many terrible choices—all of which he regrets with his whole heart. He was the Death Eater who overheard the prophecy and took knowledge of it back to Voldemort, but once he knew exactly who the prophecy referenced, he came to me for help. From that moment on, Severus was as much an Order member as he is a Slytherin, and as much a Death Eater as he is a Gryffindor. He faced the threat of torture and death but did not shirk his duties, and no one was more distraught at the deaths of Lily and James Potter than he himself."

This was too much to take in—her mind was moving so fast she was beginning to develop a headache.

"You want me to be loyal to him—what do you mean? I'm already loyal to Professor Snape. He's my Head of House."

"The loyalty I ask from you is not easily given. It is not the loyalty of a student to her professor. I ask nothing short that you devote yourself to keeping him safe. His Dark Mark grows darker each passing day, and when Voldemort returns, Severus will go back to him. He will be in more danger than ever."

"But what can I do? I'm—I'm just a _kid_. I'm failing _all_ of my classes. There must be someone else more qualified to protect him. Why ask _me_?"

"That is a very good question. However, I must disagree with you. I don't believe anyone is more qualified to protect Severus. Love is a strong motivator—stronger than duty, stronger than hate. It is what made Lily Potter stand between Voldemort and her son, even when the man offered to spare her life if she would only step aside."

She could feel the blood draining from her face as he spoke on. Love? _Love_?

"You think that I love Professor Snape?"

"I know you do, dear girl. I've seen into your mind. I've watched you for weeks before I called you to my office. You admire him greatly, and he has shown you kindness that—sadly—you have never experienced before. Your eyes follow him when he moves. You don't trust yourself to even write his name in the diary you keep at the bottom of your school trunk—"

She stood up so quickly that her tea tipped over and spilled across the oak table. "How do you know those things? That's an invasion of my privacy!"

"A necessary evil, my child," he said looking genuinely remorseful. "I would not ever risk Severus's life without being sure—I had to be sure that you cared for him."

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, refusing to take her seat again. The tea dripped from the table and onto the dusty floor. "Fine, I _care_ for him. But that doesn't mean that I'm the best person to protect him."

"As I said in my office—you don't have to. But I do ask that you try. This summer, allow me to train you and teach you more about your elusive Potions Professor. At the end of the summer, if you do not wish to continue training, then I will swear your secrecy on all matters, and I will never bother you on the subject again. But _try_ , Sintica! A good man's life is at stake."

Sintica slumped into her seat, feeling decades older and still reeling with confusion. It seemed like every word out of Dumbledore's mouth was poised to hit its target and accomplish its motive. How could she say no?

"I will try. For Professor Snape. But if the summer ends and I still haven't learned anything—I'll have to say no. I'll _have_ to."

Professor Dumbledore beamed. "I understand completely, and as I promised you, even if you say no to my request, you will be guaranteed admittance into your fifth year and every year beyond. Should I feel that you aren't properly trying—the offer will be revoked. Do you understand?"

She nodded. She thought she understood—but there would be a lot more thinking to come. Dumbledore offered her a weathered hand which she shook gently. He vanished the spilled tea, adjusted the pointed had that rested atop his head, and went to take his leave.

"Professor—one last thing—"

He turned, curious.

"Where are the scrub brushes?"

* * *

 **Lots of dialogue in this chapter. I hope you muddled through.**

 **Looks like Dumbledore forgot to tell Sintica the story about Sirius. Looks like Sirius will have to remedy that himself next chapter. Oh my.**

 **If you're a Sirius-lover, tread lightly.**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed. My heart nearly exploded in a disgusting display of joy. Any complaints and compliments and criticism is welcome.**


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